Cracked Edges
by The Darkness Factor
Summary: Neither of them need to have this moment, but they do.


**A/N: **I wrote this because TRAILER. Who knew I could do a complete flip-around regarding my Marvel ship? Hehe. I AIN'T SORRY.

* * *

><p>Because being in a jet is such a good idea, after… yeah.<p>

It's not that Bruce can't move from his spot on the floor. It's more that he doesn't want to. He likes this spot very much, thank you. He's got something he can lean against so that he doesn't have to use his hands to hold himself upright and can instead pull the blanket more tightly around him. A futile attempt to wipe away the chill under his skin, but one he feels the need to make, nonetheless.

It isn't any different from the last time he lost it without meaning to. No, that's not right… 'lost it' isn't quite the way he would put it. More like he gained too much.

They fly through the day and well into the night, eventually landing without any notice. The reason becomes clear when Clint stumbles out of the pilot's seat with a grunt and collapses on the floor. Steve seems to take this as his cue, forcing himself to stand and exiting the quinjet, presumably to stand watch. Bruce eyes Natasha as she moves to follow him, calling his name.

No one has said a word since they all escaped the city, but Bruce has enough hazy flashes to recall her being close. Very close. As in, right in front of him, not backing down. That kind of close. It more than alarms him- he's about 99 percent sure that it's the source of the chill he's feeling right now.

He also thinks that she might be the reason he came back in the first place.

Thor is the first to break the silence with, "I will keep Steve company. I do not think I could allow myself to rest now."

Truth be told, Bruce doesn't think any of them could. Well, apparently Clint can (he's already drooling), but then again another product of the hazy flashes is Clint bounding from rooftop to rooftop to keep up with the fight between him and Tony. And possibly him throwing Clint through a window.

He wonders if it would matter, if he said anything about that.

He remembers what it was that set him off in the first place, and momentarily has to focus again.

"I think he understands that you couldn't handle it again. Not right away."

The voice is low and unexpected, but Bruce isn't startled. It's not that he's too tired, he just… can't.

Natasha settles next to him. Her face is smudged and there are bruises forming along her hairline, but other than that she looks about the same as the rest of them: like she could use some sleep, but won't be getting any.

"Maybe," he allows, even more quietly. Clint grunts, rolling over. "How's Steve?"

"He's Steve," Natasha responds evenly. "He's worried."

"About Tony?"

They both glance over at the little medical station they've set up on the jet, where Tony lies unconscious. He's got an IV in his arm, a concussion, and five broken ribs from when the Hulk managed to get through his armor during the fight. That, combined with the fact that he's been decidedly un-Tony lately is enough to make them all a little more than worried.

"About all of us, apparently," Natasha says. "He's shaken up. Told me he almost considered leaving Tony behind after Ultron's minions showed up, in order to save the rest of us. Now that thought won't leave him alone. He also hasn't heard from Sam in over a week, so there's that."

Bruce turns his head towards her, lifts an eyebrow. "He told you all that in two minutes?"

"Sure. We can go with that."

Bruce nods. He can see it, though - the doubt, the belief that Natasha would have made that call, had it been up to her.

"He makes us all wish we were better," he offers.

Natasha shoots him a half-smile at that. They fall silent, though inevitably Bruce finds himself wondering why she's choosing to sit with him, of all people. He would think that she'd prefer to keep watch with Steve and Thor.

"They're bonding," she says wryly. "I didn't want to interrupt."

He doesn't call her out on the lie. "Cute," he says instead. "Braiding each others hair?"

"And painting their nails. Such besties."

"Much blond."

Natasha snorts.

The chill hasn't left him yet, and it spikes when she grows distant, her eyes glazing over as she fixates on an oxygen mask on the wall. Bruce can't quite hide his shiver, which draws her attention back to him instantly.

"How long's it been since you've eaten, Bruce?"

He opens his mouth, then closes it. Opens it again: "A few days."

They don't have rations aboard the jet, so he's been silent on the matter.

"Lack of calories, probably." Without warning she scoots closer and slides an arm around him, drawing him into her. Her other arm is used to adjust the blanket so that it fits more snugly around him, and in a few seconds she has herself practically wrapped around him, resting her chin on his head.

"Um," is his response.

"You're cold. We're in the middle of the Alps. That blanket won't cover it."

"We have a heating system," he counters.

Her embrace tightens, and her breath ruffles his hair. "That's irrelevant right now."

The chill is receding, so maybe she has a point. Bruce lets himself relax against her. He sort of hates the realization that he needs this, but it stings less when he understands that she needs it, too.

"This thing with Ultron is going to hurt, isn't it?" he asks. He's not talking physically.

Natasha doesn't respond. She doesn't move a muscle, and her breathing is even, but all of that is an answer in and of itself. Bruce nods slightly and allows one of his hands to rest where hers are linked together in front of him.

"Thank you."

He doesn't need to see her face to know she's smiling.


End file.
